


A Bite-Sized Experience

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Complete, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Mush, Food, Gen, Italian Tony Stark, Kid Peter Parker, Mama Bear Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Stark - Freeform, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sassy Peter, Son Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Cooks, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but Tony loves his sassy son so its okay, dad tony stark, making food together, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 00:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17193500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: When Tony mentioned to Peter one time that he knows how to make pasta-- not the shitty "get in a box at the store and heat up for 10 minuets" pasta-- but the real deal, Peter would not shut up about it. Honestly, it had started to drive Tony insane.Tony's solution: Teach Peter how to make homemade spaghetti.(Or: IronDad and SpiderSon make some food and shenanigans result)





	A Bite-Sized Experience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loubuttons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loubuttons/gifts).



> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy the fluffiness of this and don't worry, my next story is gonna be loaded with Whump, so be ready >:D 
> 
> Dedicated to the wonderful @loubuttons on Tumblr. Lou, you are amazing and beautiful and I love you very very much <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

 

“. . .you have to roll out the dough, get it nice and flat.”

 

Tony stands in his kitchen, dressed in Harry Potter themed pajama pants and trying to teach his 14-year-old son how to make homemade spaghetti. Peter is currently next to him, trying in vain to press a still damp lump of pasta dough into an even layer. Running his smaller palms over the dough again, the boy looks up at his father after a second.

 

“Like this?”

 

Shaking his head with a huff of amusement, Tony reaches around Peter and smoothes out the boy’s lump of dough, pushing at it. His son takes a step back, face growing red as he sighs.

 

“I’m assuming that was a ‘no’ then?” Crossing his arms across his chest, the spiderling pouts just the tiniest bit, his bottom lip sticking out.

 

“I never said that.”

 

A huff. “Yeah, but you thought it.”

 

Tony reaches over, booping Peter on his button nose, getting a small dot of flour that the boy rubs off frantically, laughing a little. His baby face scrunches up and the billionaire ignore the way his own heart clenches in response, just smiles softly before going back to his cooking.

 

“You’re doing good, _compagno_.” Tony says, putting more pressure on the dough with a small grunt. “You just need to use your palms more, not just your fingers.”

 

Peter hops up onto the counter, ignoring Tony’s annoyed eye-roll as he almost lands on his father’s hands. Swinging his legs, the boy rests his chin on his hands and watches as Tony finishes rolling the dough.

 

“You make it seem so easy, Dad!” The boy complains, gesturing to the perfectly flat concoction Tony is now slicing with a small knife. “This is my first time, after all.”

 

“I know, buddy, which is why I’m the one with the knife and not you.”

 

“That’s not fair, you wouldn’t let me use it anyways.”

 

Tony chuckles, beginning to pile the now sliced up dough into a bowl. “Well, you’re not wrong. Help me with this, will you?”

 

Hopping down from the counter, his landing silent, Peter takes over from where his Dad left off as the man walks over to the stove. Peering down at the now boiling water with a narrowed stare, the genius takes the filled bowl when his kid offers it, carefully dumping the thin strips of dough into the steaming bubbles. Peter winces a little when a small drop of water hits his arm, rubbing at the sore spot with the pad of his thumb.

 

“Now what?” Peter asks, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. His stomach rumbles and he shifts on his feet.

 

“Now,” Tony answers, “We make the sauce, kiddo.”

 

Stifling a groan, Peter obediently grabs a couple of tomatoes from the fridge at his dad’s pointed stare, setting them on the counter and picking up the chopping knife with a wicked grin.

 

“No,” Tony’s voice stops the 14-year-old in his tracks and he actually does groan this time. “Absolutely not. You put that knife down this instant, _bambino,_ or you can forget about patrolling later. _”_

 

“But Dad,” He argues, looking up at his father from underneath his lashes. “I just want to chop one tomato, please? I promise I’ll be extra careful and won’t cut any of my fingers off.”

 

Tony snorts at that, eyes his kid as Peter continues to pout, watching as the boy’s bottom lip pokes out even further after a few seconds. Finally, the genius carefully hands back the knife with a scoff.

 

“Just this once, bud. And for the record, it has nothing to do with those puppy eyes of yours.”

 

“Sure, Dad, whatever you say.”

 

“Hey, no sass when you’re currently holding a fucking _machete._ ”

 

“It’s not a mach—“

 

“What did I just say?”

 

For all his lip, Tony’s entire body is tense, watching like a hawk as his kid begins to painstakingly cut through the bright red fruit (vegetable? Eh, either way). Tony’s hands, twitching as he leans forward from behind Peter, long to pull that dangerous weapon away from his son but he knows that Peter would throw a fit. So, swallowing down his overprotectiveness for a few minuets, Tony stands there and lets every single horrible scenario play through his mind and tries not to wince at every slice of the knife.

 

Finally, Peter finishes cutting the tomato. The triumphant smile on his face is almost worth the 10 years Tony just lost on his life.

 

Almost.

 

“Told you I could do it.” Peter gloats, doing a tiny dance and splashing his shirt with small flecks of tomatoes.

 

Tony reaches over to gently wipe them away with his thump, Peter squirming as he laughs in delight, pushing his father’s hand away with a giggled “It tickles.”

 

The father just grins, his heart light. “Never doubted you, spider-baby.”

 

Taking the knife away from his still grinning son, the billionaire makes quick work of the other three tomatoes, chopping them with an efficiently that makes Peter’s job look like a four-year-old.

 

Tony supposes there isn’t much of a difference, not really. At least, not to him.

 

“Grab a pot for me please, Pete.” He tells his kid, listening as the boy bangs around in the cabinet for a minuet before emerging with a pot that is almost as big as him.

 

“This one good?”

 

“I thought you were gonna get me the _big_ pot, kiddie?”

 

Blinking in confusion for a second, Peter face scratches up in annoyed amusement even as he laughs. “Not funny, Dad.”

 

Reaching over to gently ruffle Peter’s messy curls, Tony smiles. “It’s perfect, bud, thank you.”

 

Dumping the sliced tomatoes into the pot, Tony sets it on the stove and turns the burner on medium, stirring it after a few minuets of sizzling. Peter peers from over him, his chin bumping into his father’s shoulder as he watches the tomatoes turn to slight mush. Scooting over, Tony wordlessly hands the spoon over to his son, who takes it with a wide smile and immediately begins staring, the grumbling of his stomach audible.

 

Looking over at their still softening noodles, Tony gently stirs them with a fork.

 

“Hey Dad?” Peter’s voice snaps the superhero from his thoughts and Tony immediately turns back toward his kid.

 

“What’s wrong?” Reaching out, Tony pats down the spidering’s arms, studying his face. “Did you burn yourself?”

 

But Peter just shakes his head, curls slipping past his ears and his father gently brushes them back with a finger. “Nope, I’m fine, I promise. I was just gonna let you know that we forgot about the garlic bread.”

 

“Shit.” Tony curses and Peter just laughs. “Don’t even think about repeating that, _bambino_ , I think you’d give Steve a heart attack.”

 

Peter grins, all inoccence and cherub features. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“It’s true!”

 

“I’m not arguing with you, bud!”

 

Peter grumbles, crossing his arms. “Yeah, but still.”

 

Waiting until his kid has sat the wooden spoon back down, Tony quickly reaches over and dumps a handful of flour all over Peter’s head. His son lets out a squeak of surprise, freezing up and blinking as the powder settles on his face and through his curls, the chestnut locks dusted in white.

 

Tony barely manages to keep a straight face.

 

“I know we didn’t get a lot of snow this year, _miele,_ ” He says instead, watching as Peter slowly begins to brush away the flour. “But that doesn’t mean you have to make your own.” 

 

“Shut up.” Peter grumbles, throwing a small pinch of flour at Tony, who smiles in return.

 

Then Peter fucking _sneezes_ and, Goddamn it, if it isn’t the cutest thing Tony has ever seen in his life.

 

His button nose scrunches up and his eyes squint, a small puff of flour jumping up from his hair and dusting the ground below as his body jumps. Gently placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him, Tony finally laughs as Peter glares at him through the powder, his doe eyes narrowed.

 

“Meanie.”

 

Tony, placing his hand over his Arc Reactor, looks down at the now simmering pot of sauce and stirs it once. “I am hurt, buddy. Mortally wounded.”

 

“Good.” Peter giggles.

 

Tony lets out a chuckle himself, adding the seasoning quickly and setting the sauce on low, covering it up with the lib before stepping away from the stove. Turning around, the billionaire gathers his son against his side, pressing a quick kiss on his forehead, his nose coming away dusted in flour.

 

“I’m hungry.” Peter says after a second, his stomach growling in agreement.

 

“I know, bud, I am too.” Tony replies, feeling his own mouth water as he goes back over to the stove and checks on the noodles. Almost there. “But we just gotta wait a few more minuets, alright?”

 

“Okay.” Peter whines, sounding like it is anything but.

 

“Be patient.”

 

“ _I am_ , I’m just starving.”

 

“Why don’t you set the table then? Get your mind off of waiting.”

 

Nodding, Peter immediately goes over to the plate cabinet and grabs two, setting them on the counter and getting silverware to match. As he does this, Tony checks the noodles one more time and finds them perfect; not too stiff or too soft. A quick stir of the sauce finds that it’s ready to go to, and with a dramatic sweep of his hand, the billionaire beconds his kid closer.

 

“Go wash your hands and then we can eat.”

 

Running to the sink, Peter quickly cleans his hands off, wiping away the remaining flour on his face as he does. Turning back toward his dad, the boy goes to sit down at the dinner table just as the man comes in with two plates piled high with the pasta. The spidering’s mouth waters at the sight.

 

“Thank you, Dad.” He says, the genius stopping in his tracks at these quiet words from his son.

 

Tony blinks in confusion, reaching out to gently wipe away a leftover smudge of white from his child’s cheek. “What for, _il mio cuore?”_

 

“For-for teaching me.” Peter blushes a little, looking down at his steaming plate. “It was really fun.”

 

Tony swallows against a sudden lump in his throat at these words, picking up his fork. “It’s no problem, buddy.”

 

Then, both father and son, stuff their faces with as much pasta as humanly possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos make my day and comments fuel my writing ;D


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